Home for the Holidays
by nomdeplume1313
Summary: As the holiday season nears, Dean is injured and Castiel is at a loss for how to help him. A familiar face emerges, and new information is learned about Crowley's background. This is part of the Home in Motion Universe. Established Destiel, Sam/OFC.
1. Not Your Average Hunt

_A/N: This is from the Home in Motion universe. Reading isn't necessary, but it is recommended. You need to know is that Sam has a girlfriend named Emma and Cas and Dean have an established relationship and a toddler they adopted named Johnny. I am sorry this wasn't posted closer to Christmas, but law school consumed me. I hope you all enjoy another glimpse into this universe. Also, for a bit of pimping, if you like a bit of humor with your SPN, I manage a blog on tumblr, Texts from Last Apocalypse, combining Supernatural and Texts from Last Night. (My only plug for the site, I swear.)_

_As always, I don't own Supernatural and I don't profit from it._

**There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays**

**Chapter 1**

**Not Your Average Hunt**

_"As we struggle with shopping lists and invitations, compounded by December's bad weather, it is good to be reminded that there are people in our lives who are worth this aggravation, and people to whom we are worth the same." - Donald E. Westlake, American writer._

The ghost hunt in Nebraska was pushing it a little close to Christmas, but there were some positives to being away from Sioux Falls with his brother for a couple of days. It had given them a chance to hustle a little pool last night, which would go a long way during a down season for mechanic work and help his broke, I'm-getting-ready-to-go-to-law-school brother get something nice for his girlfriend. It also gave Dean a chance to go shopping without Cas and Johnny in tow and spend a little time with his brother on what he expected to be an easy hunt. Though Sam kept assuring him they could hunt as usual, Dean knew better. He'd been reading a lot online to help him know what it would be like having his brother in law school; there were even online support groups for significant others dealing with their partners' stress and time constraints. Sam might still be delusional enough to think his life wasn't going to change once he got into law school, but Dean was prepared.

It was still morning, about an hour before the library opened and Sam could get in his geeky research. They were roaming one of those big box marts near the site of the disappearances and doing double duty by shopping and asking people questions about the strange disappearances. Dean didn't usually bother with these places because they required a membership and he never thought ahead enough to forge the card, but that Charlie Bradbury had given them fake IDs and memberships for just about every police agency, organization and state that they could think of. Now that he had sampled—literally, because they did free samples every other aisle, it seemed—the bulk shopping life, he didn't think he was ever going back. He was going to get a legitimate membership back in Sioux Falls and stock Bobby's kitchen and pantry with bulk everything. He was pretty sure he could buy enough food they could ride out the next three Apocalypses, easy.

He was now meandering down the aisles, sampling free appetizers, sports drinks and mini quiches, which he considered horribly miscast as a girly food because they were awesome. He had hit all of the tables at least once, and he knew the freebies would run out soon. It was probably time to check out, so he made his way to the shortest line at the front of the store and began setting his purchases on the conveyor belt. He'd gotten a massive tub of cheeseballs and a pie because it was there and it was pie. He'd also grabbed some toys for Johnny, just some odds and ends he didn't feel obligated to buy with Cas's presence and approval. Most importantly had been a big set of toy cars made for toddlers, which he'd had to choose carefully. The things all had faces, and some of the sets had demon cars in them that would put "Christine" to shame.

He'd also picked up an MP3 player for Cas, with all the trappings to play in the Valiant when he went on a drive. It wasn't an iAnything, but it had a three-year warranty and was a brand he recognized. It woudl be good enough to let Cas play his classical music. Bobby's place got lousy reception of the local public stations that played the stuff, and Dean had salvaged the old radio in the thing, so CDs weren't even an option.

He saw Sam wandering a little aimlessly and he actually saw the idiot starting to head for the jewelry department. "Sam," he said loud enough that it made his brother turn to face him. "She makes jewelry. Stay out of there. Nothing good will come of that."

Dean watched his big, dumb brother hesitate for a moment, go blank, panic, and then finally seem to come up with something better. He darted off somewhere else in the store, and Dean was grateful that he'd knocked some sense into him. He really didn't know what Sam was thinking even glancing at the jewelry department for a woman who handmade her own stuff from sculpting and melting on up.

He guessed that he couldn't blame him entirely, since his own thoughts had been turning to jewelry. At least, one specific piece of jewelry that was currently in the pocket of his coat. The dinged-up old ring wasn't really a Christmas gift. He wasn't even sure he'd get the nerve up by Christmas. For now, he just told himself he was waiting for the right moment.

Sam wasn't exactly quiet as his lumbering footsteps came up behind him. "So, it's okay for Cas to have this set-up in his car, but not me?" Sam asked as they were checking out.

"Wasn't your car," Dean replied as he paid the cashier. "That was Baby. And there isn't any way Cas can make that Valiant any uglier." Cas loved that weird-looking car, but Dean still liked to rag on it. "And if you're nice to him, Cas might let you use the radio jack so you can listen to your mellow rock crap when you borrow the car." If there was one plus about the Valiant coming into Dean's life, it was that Sam tended to choose it over the Impala. Cas was nowhere near as protective of it as Dean was the Impala, and it also got better gas mileage with its smaller engine. "So what did you get her?"

"New soldering gun. Hers is practically a fire hazard."

Dean grinned. Sam wasn't oblivious when it came to tools, but he wasn't exactly a mechanic or engineer, himself, so as an older brother, he appreciated that Sam's girlfriend was making him more aware of the world of tools and hardware. They both paid for their purchases while pitying the poor woman who looked like she had heard enough Christmas music and dealt with enough harried shoppers to last her a lifetime. Dean would take the monsters of Christmas shoppers.

It wasn't until they were a few feet away that Sam brought up the case. "So, get this, while I was waiting for the employee to get the soldering gun out of the locked case, I was talking to another guy in the hardware department about the ghost. He said only men had gone missing."

"You thinking a woman in white?" Dean asked as he steered them toward the in-store fast food joint near the exit.

"You're not seriously still hungry," Sam said sounding far more incredulous than he had any right to after nearly thirty years as Dean's brother. "I know for a fact you've eaten your way through this store, hitting up every sample stand in the place."

"They have giant pretzels here, plus wifi. Go get your computer while I order. You can research a little before the library opens."

Dean stood in line behind a mother with a boy who looked to be about four. The kid was raising a fit about wanting a toy that he hadn't gotten, and he looked about five seconds away from full meltdown. The mom was busy texting someone, totally ignoring the kid. It was a tactic that might have worked with some children, not indulging them with extra attention, but it was only making this one worse. Dean hoped they weren't going to be sticking around to start his day off with a headache. He knew this wasn't a fancy restaurant where strict rules of decorum applied, but he liked to think that even a big box mart wasn't exempted from common decency.

Watching this kid have his tantrum made him miss his own well behaved kid at home. He hardly registered he'd done it before he had his phone out and a text sent to Cas asking how they were getting along without him. The reply came shortly after.

_We are well, though I would argue strongly with the company that claims its baby shampoo is "no tear."_

Dean frowned. _it got in his eyes? poor kid._

_It did. I feel quite guilty, as I was the one giving him his bath._

_it happens and he'll forgive you if he hasn't already._

_He did immediately, which had the opposite effect. I feel guiltier._ There was no time for Dean to reply before Cas sent another text, _How is the hunt going?_

_looks like it's a woman in white. only men going missing._

_Be careful, Dean._ Almost as an afterthought, Cas added, _And don't get tempted._

_Not a chance._

"Sir?" the boy at the counter asked to get Dean's attention.

"Sorry," he said before ordering coffee for both him and Sam, plus one of the big pretzels that had been taunting him from the moment he walked into the store. Plus cheese dip because who wants a good pretzel without some cheese dip.

The mom and the screaming kid had left, and Dean was able to find a relatively unsticky table near an outlet before he settled down to text with Cas. He swore he could hear his partner's beleaguered sigh through the screen when Dean told him of his unhealthy snack. Hey, if there was one perk to dating an angel, it ought to be artery clearing.

#

This was supposed to be an easy hunt. Dean refused to let them separate because he didn't want to risk a repeat of their last encounter with a woman in white. Sam wasn't sure there was a rule that a woman in white could only attack someone alone in their car, but there was probably one that said it couldn't attack a man head over heels in love with an angel. That wasn't to say Sam wasn't in love with Emma, but he had a history of avoiding certain topics with the women he had loved in the past. He'd never told Jess about the family business, and that had caught up with him last time.

They'd driven for a few hours along the same stretch of road until they spotted a light on at a house that, for all intents and purposes, should have been abandoned. They went in, still bracing for a ghost, only to find they were mistaken.

"Hello boys," a not unfamiliar Irish voice said. "It's been too long. I've already wrapped up my card game, so there's nothing for you to break up."

Since Sam had won the last game against Patrick, and the warlock had lost his lover as a result, he didn't expect to be on friendly terms with the Irishman. He considered the possibility that he would want them dead, but he had expected the warlock to talk, if for no other reason than to demonstrate how superior he was to the hunters. Sam was embarrassingly caught off guard when he was slammed against the wall hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. He heard his brother yelling his name as Sam was gasping for air.

He wasn't even able to warn Dean that Patrick was now speaking Enochian or to avoid the cool blue glow that moved to engulf the older brother. Sam's brain barely had time to pray to Cas before Dean was screaming in agony and the angel appeared at his side. He turned on the warlock only to have Patrick vanish into the air.

Cas looked between the space where Patrick stood and Dean now lay on the floor, obviously trying to prioritize on the fly. He spared a glance at Sam, and it became apparent that in this triage, he was the least of the angel's concerns. Sam wasn't surprised that Cas chose to heal Dean before giong after the warlock. He couldn't seem to stand Dean's pain lasting a moment longer.

The moment that Cas's hand cupped Dean's cheek, though, the hunter let out a sharp cry. "His leg was broken, is broken," Cas said as the muscle in Dean's jaw twitched as he tried not to make another noise. Dean had always been good at that, suffering in silence. "It broke the moment my Grace tried to heal him." He stared at Dean, wide-eyed and lost.

"The spell sounded Enochian," Sam supplied, "and there was a blue light." He and Castiel were both kneeling at either of Dean's sides.

"The spell must be what is preventing me from healing you," Cas said. He placed his hand on Dean's cheek again, causing the hunter to wince. The angel pulled his hand back as though burned. "That hurt." It wasn't a question, though Dean nodded his head in response. "I'm sorry. He moved his hand to the hunter's covered arm.

"If Cas can't heal you, we need to get you to a hospital," Sam said.

"Better take the Impala," Dean grunted out, as Cas's hand hovered above him. "No offense." He wrapped his arm around each of their shoulders, and the angel's arm slowly found its spot about Dean's waist, as though he was afraid of hurting him again. They were slow in getting Dean out of the house and down the rickety and half-collapsed porch on one foot without hurting Dean any further.

"Fuck," Dean swore before asking them both to wait a moment. They paused on the bottom step, waiting for the hunter to regain his bearings. "Cas," he hissed. "Do you think you can find the bastard to reverse this?" Sam was impressed his brother could managed full sentences through the strain in his voice. "Put some of your family on finding him if you need to. Can't have a witch who can mess with Grace running around."

"Get Azrael," Dean managed before allowing a cry to escape as he shifted his leg too much trying to open the passenger rear door of the Impala. SAm dared a glance at Cas, who looked a little put off at the specific call for help.

"That's probably a good idea," Sam added, trying to placate his friend. "We already know that a lot of the usual angel proofing doesn't work on her, and I bet if Patrick knows we have an angel on our shoulders, he'll ward his safehouse. I'll bet he won't know about Azrael." Cas opened the door to the Impala as they guided Dean into the rear seat. Sam winced with each grunt and shout of pain as they moved his brother back until he was against the opposite door. The car was, thankfully, wide enough to let Dean stretch his leg across the seat without being forced to bend it.

"I will get my amulet as well," the angel said. The amulet, worn by one of Cas's siblings to disguise her angel nature, was probably the safest way they could actually touch one another without Cas causing Dean pain. Though it was subtle, the two seemed to always be touching if they were ithin any priximity of one another.

"Sorry," Dean said.

"It is not your fault," Cas said before shutting the car door. Sam was in the process of opening the driver's door as he felt a hand on his arm. He saw his brother's partner looking at him imploringly.

"Sam," Cas began, but stopped as though he couldn't find the words for what else to say.

"It is not your fault," Cas said before shutting the car door. He looked like he wanted to do more, to touch or kiss as they tended to do. He saw his brother's partner looking at him imploringly.

"Sam—"

"I'll take care of him. You find the bastard who hurt him and get him to find this."

#

Azrael was not nearly as harsh in dealing with the warlock as Castiel would have preferred,but it was still appealing to see her holding him aloft by the collar of his expensive suit. "It really isn't fair," he said. "I was prepared for the angels, but not for ... that." he waved an arm in the general direction of the female angel, who Castiel was beginning to suspect wasn't entirely an angel, if at all. "How does someone avoid something like you?"

"You don't," she said as she set him on the ground in front of Castiel, "though you continue to try."

Castiel grabbed the lapels of the man's expensive suit and pulled him forcibly so that they were standing nose to nose. "You will tell me what you did to Dean."

"Or what? You plan to give me whiplash?"

The cheeky, stubborn response stoked Castiel's anger. "You will fix this! Now!"

"Would if I could, but I'm still working on the counter-spell," the man said. "And if it means anything, I'm sorry I had to use Dean as my guinea pig."

"You tested a spell on Dean without knowing what it would do?" Castiel asked, hardly able to ask questions he probably should have been in his anger.

"It might be wise to explain the why and how you did it, before Castiel rips your head off to see if your death is a possible cure," Azrael said. "And though it might resolve the imbalance you create in the universe, I'm relatively certain you didn't put death in your itinerary for today."

"I'm protecting myself against Fergus," the Irishman said.

"Crowley? Why would you need protection from him? And why would you think Crowley would deal with angels now?" Castiel asked.

"It wouldn't be a first," Patrick said, looking pointedly at him, and if he wasn't so furious with the man, Castiel might have felt a twinge of guilt at the reminder of his deal with the demon. "But I figure sooner or later he's going to remember where he came from."

Though Castiel wanted to ask what the warlock meant by that, Azrael said, "I wasn't aware any humans knew about that." She turned to Castiel and clarified, "He was a cherub."

Patrick laughed. "I knew he was an angel, but I hadn't expected he was a cupid. It's hard to picture him as a matchmaker. If he got thrown out, I don't imagine he was a very good one."

"He was bad at following orders, not at his job. Michael and some of his followers decided they were ready to start the Apocalypse a few centuries ago, but that required a little selective breeding to strengthen the line and its connection back to Cain and Abel. Michael wanted a strong vessel. It would take a few generations to make happen, but Crowley could see what was coming. He was very opposed to helping spur the Apocalypse and began pairing off the children descended from Cain and Abel to partners who would dilute the line or even end their branch of the family tree."

That meant Crowley had not only been one of Castiel's brothers, but he had protected it by delaying the birth of acceptable vessels for Michael and Lucifer. If it were not for him, Dean wouldn't exist. It was a alien feeling for Castiel to be thankful to the King of Hell.

"He knew he was going to be thrown out of heaven, so he fell and born to human parents. Or rather, as human as a century old witch and his paramour." Azrael was looking at Patrick again, and Castiel now had his answer as to why the King of Hell would want the witch dead.

"Paramour is a bit of an exaggeration," Patrick said. "It was a one-night-stand while I was visiting Scotland and I'd even used a spell to keep her from finding herself in a family way. I didn't know I'd be working against a fallen angel needing a mum. She had a husband, and it was easier for her to pawn the kid off on him. At least until the kid started announcing that this man wasn't his daddy. He tracked me down when he was a teenager, told me how his family had gone to hell because he knew his father wasn't the man raising him, but he didn't think I was, either.

"He hasn't tried to track you down since then?" Castiel asked. "Not even to cash in on your demon deal?"

"I cleared that deal back in the middle ages," Patrick said. "The demon I made it with wasn't very smart. And I have done my best to stay clear of him, but I keep hearing all this rumbling about Heaven being under new leadership, more forgiveness for bad acts and stupid demon deals. He isn't going to take that lying down for long, and I want safe from him or anyone he partners with."

"But how did you cast that spell?" Castiel asked.

Patrick reached into his shirt to show an old vial containing what was undeniably grace. "This helps to power it, and before you get pissed at me for holding on to some angel's grace, you should know it's Crowley's. I got a little suspicious that I would have a son with a story as strange as his and started looking for how that would happen. In the meantime, I have done my best to stay clear of Fergus so he doesn't get any ideas. I consider myself lucky that he hasn't seen me as a target."

"He might if he knows you have that," Azrael said, hooking her finger beneath the leather cord at Patrick's neck. Castiel took some small pleasure in the fact that the man's blood seemed to run cold at the other angel's proximity.

"I bet he would," Patrick said, swallowing visibly as Azrael set the vial back under his shirt. He began to speak, but his voice cracked and squeaked out of his control. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Well, now that we have that settled, I suppose I should begin working on a counterspell," the other angel said.

"I agree," Castiel said.

"I don't suppose there is any chance I'll be able to do that away from you." Castiel almost felt the need to give the warlock credit for trying to wriggle away. "I promise that I will begin working on this for Dean."

Castiel grabbed the warlock's arm and transported them to Bobby's home, landing directly in the panic room. "Forgive me for not trusting you," he said to the warlock as Azrael appeared at their side. She waved a thin hand and created bindings not entirely visible to the naked eye.

"You're going to leave me a sitting duck?" Patrick asked, as he began to look around the room with increasing fear.

"Lead lined and covered in salt," Castiel said, knocking on the nearest wall. "Devil's trap above and below, Enochian sigils on each wall. Only archangels can get through, and there are only five of us.

None of us want to see you dead, at least as long as you are working on a way to fix Dean's leg."

"You mean there are only five of you on the surface," Patrick said. "If Fergus starts getting his memory back, he may not be so opposed to letting his big brothers out."

"That isn't going to happen," Castiel said. "No one is getting out of that cage."

Patrick sat on one of the chairs. "They used to say that about Houdini's tricks, too."


	2. Mending

**Chapter 2**

**Mending**

"_A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together." _

― Garrison Keillor, _Leaving Home_

Castiel arrived outside hospital, pulling his amulet over his head. The Hand of Fatima that once belonged to Zedkiel dampened his Grace, but didn't eliminate it entirely. He hoped it would be sufficient to protect Dean from the pain his Grace now caused him. He tucked the silver symbol beneath his winter coat and flannel shirt as he passed through the automatic doors at the front.

Sam had texted him to let him know that Dean had been admitted to the hospital overnight and had a room number, which he promptly gave to the elderly man at the information desk.

"I'm sorry, young man," he said. "Visiting hours aren't for another two hours."

"Please, Sir," Castiel said, trying to remain polite when he knew that no one in that hospital could actually prevent him from seeing Dean, "my partner was brought here last night. This was the soonest I could get here."

The mention of the word "partner" hadn't inspired the sort of sympathy Castiel had been hoping for. If anything, it had made the man less inclined to work with him.

"His name is Dean Nash," he tried again. "I've been told he's on the third floor, room 305."

"Visiting hours aren't for another two hours," the man repeated sourly. "You can go and get breakfast at the Denny's and come back at eight like everyone else."

Castiel scowled at the man. "Your hate will get you nowhere in life."

"It isn't hate," the old man said. "It's the rules, but your type has problems understanding the rules and always want special exceptions made for yourself."

Before Castiel could consider smiting the man, thankfully, a young woman dressed similarly to Ramona after work had overheard him. "You must be Cas," she said with a small smile, attempting to diffuse the situation before it grew worse. "Agents Stills and Nash told us to be looking for you. You can follow me to the third floor."

They walked together to the elevators behind the now-sour-looking man at the front desk. She pressed the button with the arrow pointing up and smiled at him. "Your Dean is certainly a charmer." She gave the older man at the welcome desk another look as though checking to see if he was going to let the matter drop now that she had intervened.

"Is he unintentionally flirting with everyone in the hospital?" Castiel asked as the brass doors opened and they stepped inside.

"When he isn't talking about you," she said with a smile. "He is on morphine, and that's loosened his tongue." She then added with a conspiratory whisper, "He keeps calling you his angel."

Castiel's surprised reaction was apparently brushed off as one of embarrassment. Thankfully, Dean didn't seem to be revealing anything dangerous or too private, and everyone was assuming "angel" was a term of endearment. The nurse directed him to Dean's room while she stopped at the nurse's station. From what Castiel could catch of her conversation with the other nurses, it was to discuss the volunteer greeter downstairs and to have "something done about him."

He found the room easily. Even had it not been for the number outside, he would have recognized Sam's form as it tried to get comfortable in a chair too small for his huge size. He stepped inside to find Dean was stretched out on the hospital bed. The angel couldn't stop the images of Dean on a similar bed almost four years before after Alistair had beaten him and Castiel had been unable to stop the demon from nearly killing his charge. The memory brought a painful twisting sensation in the angel's chest.

"Cas!" Dean said, enthusiastically, raising his arms toward the door not unlike Johnny when he was asking for a hug. "Don't look so sad. I've got drugs. I'm not feeling a thing." His hands opened and closed, completing the comparison to their son.

The angel responded in a similar fashion, coming closer to the bed and wrapping his arms around Dean awkwardly, trying not to jostle his head or the wires and tubes currently connected to him. The hunter hummed as they held to one another.

"Is the amulet working?" Castiel asked in his partner's ear. "Am I hurting you?"

"Hard to tell with the morphine, but I don't think so," Dean said before kissing him on the cheek. He was not normally so tactile in public, but Castiel had no qualms in indulging him.

Behind him, a tired-looking Sam was pulling forward a vinyl and wood chair that matched the one that Sam was sitting in so that Castiel could take a seat at Dean's side. Castiel's hand found the hunter's as Sam began relaying the details of Dean's injuries. He hadn't been concussed, but his fibula and femur were each broken in one spot. He also had some bruised ribs and a few more minor cuts and bruises. Because Sam and Dean were both pretending to be FBI agents, the hospital staff had decided to keep him overnight and offered them the best care possible.

That wasn't the best care that existed, that was Castiel's healing power, but that wasn't possible until the warlock fixed his spell.

"What about Patrick?" Sam asked, washing his hands over his face in an attempt to fend off sleep.

"We got him," Castiel said. "And he has already been put to work."

"Knew you'd get him," Dean said, offering a squeeze to his hand.

"I believe the saying is 'too little, too late.'"

"You weren't there, Cas," Sam said while Dean seemed to struggle to articulate his own thoughts. "You couldn't have done anything."

"What he said." Dean kept his gaze focused on Castiel, who was beginning to feel self-conscious for the adoration in his partner's expression. It made the angel feel like more of a failure for his inability to help this man who so clearly trusted and loved him.

All Castiel could do was sit at his side, feeling useless, and keep Dean's hand in his own.

#

It took several hours, more drugs, a cast, and a specialist before Dean was given the stamp of approval to leave the hospital. He looked between his two driving options, Cas who had never driven the Impala and Sam who was visibly exhausted from staying up all night worrying about Dean. With his own cast up to his thigh on his right leg, Dean wasn't driving, and angel flight was out of the question.

Asking Azrael, if it worked, would raise all sorts of questions about what she really was. Since she'd spent millennia using the angel of death as a disguise for her other identity of Death itself, he was pretty sure Azrael wouldn't want to blow her cover for him.

"Sam, you can't drive," he said as he was being wheeled out of the hospital. "You need to get at least four hours before I'll let you behind Baby's wheel."

"I could get us as far as a hotel, get a few hours' sleep and then we could hit the road."

"I just want to get home," Dean said. He wanted to get home to their boy, after two days away, and he was also thinking that Cas was looking way too sad than he had any right to. Maybe getting to drive them home would make him feel useful. Dean might have been a little drug-addled, but he knew his partner was upset. He fished his keys out of his coat pocket, neatly avoiding the silver ring that rested with them, and tossed them to Cas. "I trust you with her."

Cas didn't perk up as much as Dean had hoped, but there was a little reverence in eyes at the fact that his partner trusted him. It was something.

Within an hour on the road, Dean had fallen asleep again, trusting Cas not to wreck Baby. Sam was back at Bobby's thanks to Angel Express, so it was just the two of them in the car. As much as he'd tried, though, Dean couldn't really be much company. He had done a bit of driving from the back seat while his partner learned the feel of the car and how she drove, but once it was obvious he had it under control, Dean quickly slipped into dreamland. It was probably for the best. Eventually, he was going to complain about how slowly the angel was driving, even though he knew it was mostly to avoid potholes and bumps in the road that would jostle his leg.

He woke up once on the drive to pop some pain meds and checked to see how Cas was doing, but nodded off almost immediately after. They were back in South Dakota when Dean woke up again, several hours later. He groggily realized they were nearly to Sioux Falls as a few of the landmarks began to look familiar. "How are you doing?" he asked Cas.

"You're up," the angel said. "Do you need more medicine?"

"I can make it to Bobby's from here," he said. He lifted his hand to rest on Cas's left shoulder, hoping to ease the tension he could see and feel the angel carrying. He could still feel the tingle of Cas's Grace, but it didn't hurt like it had before. "I'm going to ask again. How are you doing?"

"Getting a little tired and I think I may need to urinate when we return to Bobby's," Cas said. Dean snickered at how irritated the angel sounded at the idea he might have to do something as normal as taking a piss.

"Thanks for the information, but not what I meant," he said. "I've been pretty high for the last twelve or so hours, or asleep. But you've seemed pretty down about my leg." Speaking of the leg, it was making its presence known as the drugs and lethargy of sleep were fading away.

"I can't heal you," Cas said, his shoulders going tight again. "And when I tried, I actually hurt you."

"Not your fault," Dean assured him, removing his hand from the angel's shoulder so that he could readjust his leg. That turned out to be a very bad idea, and Dean ended up crying out in pain.

Cas's head whipped around to look back at Dean. "What happened? Did I hit a pothole?"

"No," Dean said as he gritted his teeth. He inhaled sharply and barked out, "Eyes on the road." Cas quickly obeyed, and Dean got to add to his pain a wave of guilt for yelling at the angel. "I tried to shift my leg, and it hurt," he finally said after he felt he could speak without snapping. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"You are in pain," Cas said. "If I can't apologize for being unable to heal you, you can't apologize for reacting to your pain."

"I've got to get better at it," Dean said, eyes stinging as his leg let out a steady throb. "You understand, but Johnny won't."

"We can explain to him that you have a boo-boo," Cas said. That word still sounded foreign in Cas's serious tone, but Johnny had learned it when he'd scraped his knee playing with Fallyn and should understand that Dean was injured, at least. He wasn't sure that the toddler would understand that people in pain can be unintentionally snappy, though, especially not a kid as sensitive as Johnny.

They reached Bobby's a few minutes later, and Dean found himself surrounded by well meaning family, all of whom he had to tell to back off before they hurt him trying to get him out of the Impala. He knew he could have counted on Bobby or Sam to help him because they all had experience helping someone—helping Dean specifically—who was injured. But he knew that by excluding Cas, he'd hurt the guy worse than he already was. Cas was already feeing useless because he couldn't heal Dean; the hunter thought it was probably better not to underscore it.

Slowly, Dean inched himself out of the car while Cas stood to the side, holding his crutches.

"Where's Johnny?" he asked once he had a crutch under each arm.

"Metatron has him," Sam said. "Balthazar and Azrael are working with Patrick on getting ingredients for the counterspell."

"Azrael's providing the motivation to get his ass in gear," Bobby said. Dean bet she was. "We've got the downstairs et up like I had it when I was in the chair. You don't want going up and down stairs for the first few weeks, if you can avoid it."

Dean thanked him as he moved slowly toward the house, trying to swing his leg as little as possible. It might have been in a cast, but that didn't mean that moving and shifting his leg didn't hurt like hell. Cas ran ahead to get the door and to stare at him with a worrying look on his face. Bobby had the good sense to give Dean space while Sam hovered. Dean was used to this sort of hovering, and it didn't put him on edge the way Cas's did, not that he'd say it aloud.

The moment he was through the door, Johnny let out a loud shout of "Dada!" Dean was hurting and tired, but that single word helped to sooth his increasingly prickly attitude. Cas turned down the blankets on what looked like a brand new bed. Dean didn't have time to question it, as Cas asked as much of the other men in the room.

"It didn't seem like a bad idea to get a bed instead of a cot," Metatron said while he held a squirming baby. "Given how the two of you like to sleep, and that this little guy won't be in a crib forever. It's the same set as he already has in his bedroom."

Dean might have liked to get the little guy a fun bed, like one shaped like a racecar or a castle, but he wasn't going to knock a gift that kept him off a cot for the next few weeks. And as far as their sleeping arrangements, it was going to be a while until Dean would be comfortable with his broken leg and sharing the small space with Cas. He'd probably give in sooner than he should, though, because Dean didn't exactly love the idea of weeks of sleeping alone. The mattress, though, it was a few thousand times better than the old one upstairs.

"It's memory foam," Metatron supplied when Dean seemed to melt into the bed.

The hunter chuckled at Cas's confused face. "It remembers me." He knew his partner was going to ask how, so he cut him off with a promise to explain later.

Metatron took a few steps closer with Johnny and set him on the floor by the bed. "Your daddy has a boo-boo," he said. The boy stared at the cast, his hand moving to touch the hard material, but stopping to look up at Dean.

"It's okay," he lightly tapped the cast. He didn't want Johnny to know he could probably knock on it without hurting Dean just in case the boy decided to test how much damage the cast could take.

Johnny placed his chubby little hand on the cast and made a hissing noise. "Boo-boo, Dada?" he asked. "Ow."

"That's right, little guy," Dean said. "Ow."

"Taddy," Johnny said, looking up at the angel. "Dada boo-boo." It became pretty clear they were going to have to let the kid hurt himself without being healed by the angel. Already, Johnny assumed the solution to an injury was his Taddy's healing powers. He just kept looking at the angel and touching Dean's leg.

"Taddy can't fix it," Dean said, running his hand through the boy's reddish hair. "And that's okay." But Cas looked like it was anything but.

#

It had been late when they got home, and it didn't take long for Johnny to fall asleep at Dean's side. Apparently, the bed remembered him as well. Castiel had been trying to stay upstairs in the living room with Dean rather than venturing downstairs to the basement where his siblings were overseeing Patrick's work. Castiel was certain if he went downstairs, he would hurt the warlock.

The angel chose, instead, to scoop his son from the bed and place him in his crib upstairs. The baby nuzzled against his neck and offered a contented sigh. While the boy's earlier urging had been a painful reminder that he couldn't help Dean, he found it surprisingly pleasing that Johnny had such trust in the angel. His son knew he could count on him, even at such a young age. Given the neglect the boy had suffered for nearly the first year of his life, Castiel counted himself grateful that Johnny was so able to put faith in him.

He tucked Johnny in with a kiss to his forehead before heading back down to take his place in the chair at Dean's side.

"I saw some boxes lining the hallway. Looked like they'd been in the attic for a while."

"Christmas decorations," Bobby said as he sat on the sofa that had been shoved to the side of the room. "I had Cas bring them down. I think there's a tree in one of them, if you don't mind aluminum."

"Wasn't quite what I'd had in mind, but it'll work," Dean said. Castiel knew what Dean had originally had in mind. He had made Castiel watch "Christmas Vacation," showing him many of the Christmas traditions, with the caveat that _they_ would "do things right." That apparently wasn't in the cards. Already, there would be no hunt for the perfect Christmas tree, though that was probably better for the tree that would die to supply them with a "traditional" holiday.

"It even has a color wheel," Bobby said. "Thing spins and shines different colors on the tree. If it still works."

"Johnny'll love that," Dean said.

For want of _something _to do, Castiel began going through the boxes to find the metal tree, though none of the boxes appeared to be big enough to actually hold a tree larger than a foot or two tall. He found a dusty box marked "X-Mas" Tree in old paint on the side. He ripped through the tape at the top to find, much to his chagrin, the tree was in pieces.

He began having flashbacks to the assembly of Johnny's crib.

He carried the box back into the living room, where Dean looked close to falling asleep. Castiel had grown accustomed to the time spent resting at the hunter's side while he rested, but he knew that wasn't a possibility tonight or for the next several nights.

"I will stay down here and attempt to assemble this," Castiel said. He looked to Bobby and Sam, who both appeared to be growing tired. "Could you listen for Johnny should he wake up through the night?" He didn't tend to, but knowing his father was injured, Johnny might not rest as soundly tonight.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said, standing and patting the angel on his shoulder. "We've got it." He moved to Dean and put his large hand on the older brother's shoulder.

"Give us a shout if you need us," Bobby said before they both left Castiel and Dean.

"Don't know how much longer I can stay awake," Dean said.

"Go to sleep," Castiel said, leaning over to press his lips to Dean's forehead. "I'm going to take the amulet off so I can stay awake if you need me." He softly ran his fingers through Dean's hair and took at least some pleasure at the fact that the hunter's eyes closed, relaxed. "Goodnight, Dean."

"'Night, Cas."

Castiel set the amulet on the small table near Dean's bed and began removing the many pieces of the tree. It was going to be a long night, but he could at least keep busy.

#

Dean woke up a few times through the night, so when he saw dawn filtering through the curtains, he figured it was probably better to just stay up. Cas had been a good nursemaid, remembering to put on the amulet each time Dean woke before getting the hunter more meds, something to drink or help him to the downstairs bathroom.

He glanced over to see Cas fussing over the silver-colored tree, trying to get it exactly right. Dean had snapped at the angel once during the night for waking him up, swearing at the lack of instructions and that he'd, apparently, put it all together upside down. Dean could sympathize, but not when he was functioning on little sleep and in pain.

"Looks good," Dean said, though he kind of thought the tree was a little ridiculous. It had probably been around since Bobby was a kid, back when it wasn't a requirement or even in style for a tree to cover every square inch of the trunk. The branches all pointed up, instead of out, and it really didn't live up to Dean's image of a big, traditional Christmas, since it was a few inches shorter than Cas in his bare feet.

But it was small enough to accommodate Dean's bed, it was free, and Cas had worked all night trying to get it to look just right, including the color wheel, which was spinning on the floor beneath the tree and making the tree change colors every few seconds.

"Dean? Do you need anything?"

"Nah. I think I'm up now." He started to shift to a reclining position on the bed. "Are there any ornaments in the boxes you brought down?"

"Yes," Cas said, pointing to a box that hadn't held the tree. "I wasn't sure if you would want Johnny to help with that."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I think it'd be nice."

"I would suggest one thing," Cas said as he pulled a plastic figure from the box. "Can we buy a star for the top of the tree?" There was something rewarding seeing Cas, who had been so down lately, smile as Dean laughed at the plastic angel.


End file.
